


A Harsh Winter

by 401



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Flashbacks, Hydra (Marvel), M/M, Memories, On the Run, Oral Sex, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-11 18:52:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4447739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/401/pseuds/401
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky comes back to find Steve and he brings danger, love and pain with him.<br/>Similar concept but separate to my other series, Fixing Winter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Back

**Author's Note:**

> I'll try and keep the chapters coming as quick as I can. Feedback things you might like to see and ill do my best to include.

Steve opened the door of his apartment, chucking his duffle bag, containing the pieces of blood-covered Captain America suit that was cut off of him, onto the floor next to the fridge. He sighed. The day had been long and hard, emotionally and physically draining in every way. His mind was filled with images of the bridge, Hydra and…Bucky, the Winter Soldier, Sergeant Barnes, whatever they wanted to call him. He was still Bucky.

Sam had dropped him home to the apartment minutes earlier after he had been discharged from hospital.

“You’ll be alright, Cap?” Sam had asked. Steve had wanted to scream ‘no’ at the top of his lungs.

“Of course,” he had lied, “I always am.”

Now he was back in the real world, away from the comfortable haze and isolation of hospital, the distraction of progress x-rays and pain medication. He had to think now. He reached into the fridge with a yawn and pulled out a large bottle of orange juice and downed half in one go.

“Slow down.”

The sudden voice from behind him in his dark living room startled him, making him drop the juice onto the kitchen tiles where it glugged out the rest of its contents. All traces of fatigue were replaced with adrenaline as he flipped the shield on the kitchen counter onto his arm with a swift movement. His heart throbbed in his chest.

“I’m not here to fight, Captain,”

The Winter Soldier was sat at Steve’s desk, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. The minimal light from the cars passing outside caught on the sleek titanium of his metal arm and blinked distractingly, barely and intermittently illuminating his faced which was partially covered by his long dark hair anyway, falling messily as he ducked his head. Steve lowered his shield, at ease with Bucky’s presence.

“That’s brave,” Bucky muttered darkly, “I tried to kill you less than a week ago.”

Steve turned on the lamp on his coffee table before perching on the back of the couch. Bucky winced at the orange glow.

“Then, you pulled me out of a freezing river to save my life,” Steve pointed out, “So I’m not too worried.”

Bucky gave a look that screamed ‘well you should be’, but Steve ignored it. In the new, warmer light he could see his old classmate, roommate, friend and lover properly for the first time in decades. Not blurred by action and adrenaline, he was still as beautiful as Steve remembered, regardless of the bruises and pallor caused by years of isolation and fighting.

“I’ve missed you, Buck,” Steve whispered, his voice coming out much quieter than he had hoped.

Bucky stood up sharply and turned his back on Steve, crossing his arms, not in confrontation or malice but wrapped around himself protectively. He stared out of the window at a dark and rainy Washington DC.

“We’re not talking about that yet,” Steve said quickly, “Sorry.”

He wasn’t about to scare Bucky away now.

“Do you want something to eat,” Steve offered, “You must be starving.”

Bucky hesitated. He had nothing eaten nothing but protein bars, soda and intravenous feed for as long as he could remember. He was not even sure if what he feeling was real hunger. He declined.

“Why did you come back Buc…Sergeant Barnes,” Steve asked, loosening his shoulders to try and hide the plethora of emotions and hopes and memories that were flying around behind tired blue eyes.

Bucky stayed where he was, looking out of the window.

“I saw you come here once, before the bridge,” Bucky started “I knew this was where you lived…”

The winter Soldier went quiet.

“When you fell off of the helicarrier, I remembered you, something about your face,” Bucky continued with a shaky breath, “I couldn’t let you go.”  


Steve smiled and walked into the kitchen, familiar sense of love and safety filling his body. He turned on the kettle and kept his movements calm and slow, noting the way Bucky’s movements warped from defence and strength to recoil, and his facial expression kept changing from anger to fear. The man was in pieces, terrified and submissive.

“You still take your coffee black?” Steve asked. Bucky went to answer but realised he didn’t actually know anymore, so just nodded and hoped for the best.

“Sugar?” Steve asked also. Bucky shook his head and watched as the Captain spooned the dark brown granules into two mugs, before pouring hot water in both and milk into one.

Steve gestured to the little dining table in the centre of the small kitchen. Bucky sat opposite him quietly and took a mouthful of the coffee. It burned and heated his chest and stomach.

“Thank you,” Bucky said in a small voice, “For letting me…be here after everything.”

Steve shrugged amiably and reached across the table, putting his hand on top of Bucky’s flesh had, squeezing gently. The feel of human contact that did not hurt in some way shook Bucky.

Everything he had felt in the last god knows how many year had hurt. Needles, saws, feeding tubes, fists, bullets; all intended to hurt or manufacture him into something more dangerous, more efficiently deadly. The comfort of Steve’s touch was scary after so much abuse. Bucky pulled his hand away quickly as tears started to fall onto the table in front of him. It took him a moment to realised they belonged to him.

“It’s okay,” Steve soothed, “You’re allowed.”

Barnes rubbed away the emotion angrily with his metal hand, the coolness and lack of animation and life bringing him back to what he was used to.

“Let’s get you something to wear that isn’t made of Kevlar,” Steve suggested, “You can have my bed or the couch, I really don’t mind.”

Bucky chose the couch, and after changing into some grey sweatpants and a t-shirt with a bluebird on it that Steve had given him, curled up on the softest surface that he had lied on for seventy years.

“We’ll sort everything out in the morning,” Steve reassured, “But you look exhausted so get some sleep if you can.”

Bucky was not exactly sure what ‘everything’ consisted of but Steve was right about him being exhausted. His eyes started to sag almost as soon Steve retired to his room down the hall.

Steve changed into pyjamas before getting into his own bed but not sleeping at all. He had Bucky back, and that was all he could think about.


	2. Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW panic attack and nightmares.

Steve woke to the sound of sobs from the living room. He paused to see if they would subside, not wanting to intrude on Bucky’s privacy. He had had his privacy prodded and beaten for years straight and he wanted to make sure it would never happen again. But the sobs turned to screams, muffled by sleep or obstruction. Steve jogged down the hall in his pyjama pants.

“Buck?” Steve kneeled next to the couch.

Bucky’s face was buried into the pillow and his metal fingers had completely gouged into the material where he was gripping. If those metallic knuckles had been alive they would have been white with the tension. His ears were flushed with the stress of screaming and his breathing rose and fell in laboured huffs that arched his shoulders.

“Shhh, relax,” Steve rubbed cautious circles into the space between Bucky’s shoulder blades, letting his hands curiously brush the metal side to see how it felt. It was surprisingly warm closer to the seam of Bucky’s skin, but further down his arm it was cold.

Bucky woke from the reimagined torture and flipped onto his back, gasping like he had been held under water.

“You’re okay now, try and breathe,” Steve sat on the coffee table next to Bucky.

His breathing was ragged. He was leaning forward, his head on his knees and his body was racked with shivers.

“It will stop,” Steve tried to reassure, “Here, try this.”

Bucky flinched as Steve sat him up a little, but relaxed instantly and the Captain pressed a strong fist into the centre of his burning chest. Steve put his other hand on Bucky’s back and pressed rhythmically. The motion forced his breathing into a healthy pattern.

They stayed like that for a moment, Steve uttering occasional words of comfort; _slow down, I’m here, keep breathing._

“How?” Bucky coughed in disbelief, “How did you just stop that?”

Steve kept pressing.

“You taught me,” Steve explained. Bucky frowned in confusion.

“You used to do it to me to stop my asthma attacks, before the war.”  


Bucky looked away, his eyes glazing a little as he tried to picture the memory that was so clear in Steve’s mind but so vague in his.

“It used to happen when you got sick,” Bucky blurted after a little while, when his breathing had steadied completely.

Steve stopped and nodded, willing Bucky to continue. He kept thinking.

“Your lips would go purple, it was scary,” Bucky proceeded, visibly shivering at the memory of Steve’s previous, skinny frame, shaken by gasps and wheezes, “I hated seeing you like that.”

Bucky looked at his hands, fumbling with the nostalgia. It made him uncomfortable. Hydra had a routine; if he remembered, he was wiped, and the agony of having his brain fried with volt upon volt of electricity was a difficult cycle to break.

“You’re better now, the serum?” Bucky looked at Steve next to him on the couch. His eyes were welling a little but he did not mention it.

“Um, yeah,” Steve croaked out, swallowing tears, “No more asthma.”  


Bucky nodded. He closed his eyes and rubbed the heels of his hands over them till they buzzed.

“Do you want me to stay with you for a bit?” Steve near whispered.

Bucky glanced at the window. It was near sunrise, the clouds were navy blue streaks against a wet mix of oranges and reds, there were birds and the sounds of the first commuters hanging in cool air that hadn’t been painted by the smells of the busy day yet.

He didn’t want to inconvenience Steve but right now, the closeness was irresistible in a way Bucky found odd, exciting and frustratingly familiar. Steve’s hand on his back felt like electricity and he was concsious of its temperature through his shirt.

“Please,” Bucky admitted.

Steve sighed putting his arm around Bucky’s shoulders fully. The soldier relaxed in the firm but soft space, barely resisting the urge to bury his face into the crook of Steve’s neck with all his strength. It took a while but one by one, Bucky’s muscles loosened into the contact, like melted sliver into a mould, filling the grooves and angles of Steve’s body effortlessly.

He started to drift into a comfortable haze and, as he sat there with his eyes closed and his head resting lightly on Steve’s shoulder, Bucky realised that he had done this before.

 


	3. Baby Steps

_“Don’t be such a dame, Stevie,” Bucky sauntered across their tiny Brooklyn apartment, a burgundy and cream striped towel around his waist, “You don’t have to do this for me and you know it.” Steve did not care, he threw a dishcloth at Bucky before flipping over the eggs and bacon in the iron frying pan. He had used up their entire weeks rationing in meat for this and he was not about to give up._

_“You’ll need something decent before you leave,” Steve turned with a glint in his eye “And you know it.” Bucky grinned and walked up being Steve and wrapped his arms around his waist. He kissed the shorter boys neck, over and over until he felt the familiar flush of heat under his thin collarbones._

_“You’re gonna’ make me burn your…damn it Buck you’re a tease,” Steve complained half-heartedly._

_Bucky slid his hands downward and pulled Steve’s hips back gently, making him drop the hot spatula to the ground with a clatter._

_“Just love hearing you make that sound, Stevie,” Bucky giggled at the tight little whimper that Steve failed to hold back._

_Steve pouted before chucking the spatula into the sink and sliding the eggs and bacon onto a plate._

_“Enjoy, rascally bastard,” Steve mumbled handing the plate to Bucky._

_Bucky chuckled through a mouthful of eggs._

_“You kiss your ma with that mouth, Rogers?”_

_Steve pushed Bucky to the dining table by his shoulders and sat him down._

_“No,” Steve said, matter of fact, “I kiss you.”_  
  


Steve grinned to himself at the memory, before flipping the batch of French toast he was presently making onto a plate. There was enough for four people, easily, but eggs weren’t rationed in 2015 and he knew that if Bucky was anything like him after that serum, he would be able to put away a big portion.

“Help yourself,” Steve said placing the plate in the middle of the table and taking a piece for himself.

Bucky hesitated, then took piece. It smelt spiced, like cinnamon and sugar. He was not sure if he recognised it at first, but the first bite told him it was the best thing he could remember eating in years.

“You’re enjoying that,” Steve coughed out a laugh, pushing the plate a little closer to Bucky before taking another piece and sitting back. He watched the soldier, content in the knowledge that he was doing something helpful and in the fact that he was probably getting his first proper meal since he had been thawed. Bucky folded his piece of toast in half down the middle and ate it like on its side, like a hotdog. It was something he always used to do, and Steve had to curb his excitement in seeing him remember such a trivial habit. Fury’s words came to Steve’s mind. _Baby steps, Captain. Big boots and baby steps._ Fury had been trying to explain to Steve why it was so difficult for him to adjust to the twenty-first century. He understood now.

“Did you used to make this?” Bucky paused for breath to ask.

“All the time,” Steve admitted, “Until eggs and sugar were rationed, then a little less often.”

Bucky nodded and took another bite.

“It’s awesome,” He said quietly. He wasn’t used to enjoying things.

“You need it, you look peaky,” Steve tapped Bucky’s cheek affectionately.

Bucky froze. Steve pulled his hand away slowly.

“Too soon?” he asked cautiously eyeing the soldier’s countenance, watching for a sign of anger or panic.

To Steve’s relief, Bucky shook his head and pulled his hand back, holding it to his cheek. His other metal hand was absently mincing a piece of French toast to a pulp between its titanium fingers.

“You like that?” Steve asked quietly, smiling apprehensively.

Bucky nodded, looking straight into Steve’s eyes. He was hyper-aware of Steve’s fingers on his cheek but he wouldn’t have changed a thing. He was flooded with a deluge of pictures and feelings, Steve’s arms around his neck and the sound of his voice. He would wake up to that voice every day if he could. What was swelling in his chest now for once was not panic. He didn’t know what it was, so he guessed that it was good. If it was bad he would have recognised it. He was the self-proclaimed master of bad feelings.

“I loved you, didn’t I?” Bucky finally rasped, his throat uncomfortably dry.

Steve nodded, expectant and hopeful.

“I still do,” Bucky murmured.

Steve nodded again, suddenly conscious of everything about him. What face was he pulling? Was he smiling? Of course he was, he was grinning like an idiot and tears were running down his cheeks but right then and there he didn’t want to stop them. He stroked the finger that Bucky had pinned to his cheek up and down to loosen the grip. Bucky instinctively shot up to a standing position before looking at Steve apologetically. Steve stood up too and edged around the table so he was standing opposite the soldier. _Baby steps, baby steps._

“Do you still love me?” Bucky asked.

“I never stopped,” Steve admitted, looking down at their feet. Bucky’s were bare, his toes curled anxiously against the wooden floor.

“Kiss me, Steve.”

Steve did not have to be asked twice. He put his hands on Bucky’s waist and pressed their lips together, firm and sure. He could hear Bucky’s metal arm start to whir gently as the unseen tech inside it pulsed and flexed. Bucky’s mouth was hot and he tasted like cinnamon and maple syrup. His breathing sped up and Steve pulled away in caution.

“Please don’t stop,” Bucky gulped and Steve obeyed.

He moved his hands under Bucky’s t-shirt and relished the feeling of his skin against his hands. He had waited so many years to feel that. Bucky’s fingers ran through Steve’s hair and rested at the back of his neck. He stopped, puffed out and rested his forehead against Steve’s chest, unsure if the thumping he could hear was his own heartbeat or the Captains. He honest to god didn’t care. It was Bucky’s turn for his tears to betray him now, and they ran down his cheeks and over his lips in salty moats.

“It’s been so long since…” He choked out, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I hurt you.”  


Steve shook his head briskly.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Steve’s voice came out sterner that he had planned, “Just kiss me again and I might forgive you.”  


Bucky did, and spent the rest of the day with the comfortable realization that he would never have to forget that feeling again.

 


	4. Wounded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW blood/bleeding/injury mention  
> fight scene

“What did they do, Buck?” Steve asked, lying alongside Bucky, in his bed now, propped up on one elbow so he was slightly raised up from the Winter Soldier, who was lying flat on his back with hands at his sides.

The feeling of a mattress and a quilt and a pillow was odd. Like suction almost. After a while Bucky had stopped being unsettled and just blissfully comfortable.

“Experiments,” Bucky started, feeling his pulse quicken, “They would test my pain threshold and stuff.”

He took a deep breath.

“Sometimes, if I was remembering too much, they lock me in a room alone with no light. They said it was so my conditioning would take hold easier. They’d wipe my memory before ever mission so my only agenda was what they had told me to do, not what I thought I should be doing.”  


Steve could here Bucky’s voice speeding up a little so he put a hand on his forehead and pushed back the dark hair affectionately.

“If I questioned anything, they’d torture me. They…” Bucky stopped, shaking his head.

Steve sighed, lying down properly and pulling Bucky into his arms. He felt the soldier loosen in his hold and his breathing slowed. Steve kissed the top of his head, keeping his lips there and appreciating the familiar smell.

“Never again,” Steve promised, “You’re safe.”

Bucky nodded, nuzzling deeper into the embrace and warmth of Steve’s side before drifting off into comfortable sleep.

~

Bucky opened his eyes uneasily. It was an odd feeling, waking from unbroken sleep, the first unbroken sleep he’d had in years. He stood up and stretched. The little digital clock on Steve’s nightstand showed 3:27 am. He looked at Steve. Out cold, lying on his back with one arm still stretched out where it had been wrapped around Bucky. There were red marks along his forearm from the creases of Bucky’s t-shirt and on his exposed ribs, the fish scale-like pattern from the metal arm was also printed into the blushing skin. Steve stirred, turning his head in both directions as if searching for a sound but in the end surrendering to deeper sleep with an inarticulate mumble. Bucky smiled at the sight before walking into the living room quietly. It was warm, still dimly lit by a place lamp on the coffee table and quiet, apart from the sounds of cars and the occasional siren from outside in the streets. Bucky glanced at the window closest to the fire escape.

Something silvery caught his eye. At first he had thought it was the reflection of his left side against the glass but upon closer inspection it was quite different. About the size of a bottle cap and chromed, a tiny frowning skull with snakes protruding from the mouth, stuck to the glass from the outside. Hydra.

Bucky measured his movements and scanned the room for anything else, the red dot of a sniper rifle, anything that he had missed. He employed all of the training he knew and stalked his way back into the bedroom.

“Steve, wake up,” The Captain stretched slowly but his eyes stayed closed, “Wake _up,_ dammit!”

Steve sat bolt upright and Bucky clasped his hand over his mouth. Steve went to protest but sensed the magnitude of the situation from the look on Bucky’s face.

“Get dressed, as quick as you can and get your shield,” Bucky whispered, Steve nodded, and uncomfortably tight metal hand still pressed to his mouth, “They’ve come back for me.”

Steve sighed, shook his head and coordinated his thoughts.

“I mean it Steve, get dressed.”

He did, so did Bucky, going from young man in pyjamas to trained assassin at a speed that made Steve uncomfortable.

“They’ll be watching,” Bucky muttered, moving weapons, mainly hand combat-sized, from the rucksack he had bought to the rows of pockets in the black protective vest, “Stay low, and don’t talk if you don’t have to, not until we are outside.”

Steve nodded silently flipping his shield onto his forearm before crouching next to Bucky.

“On my mark, out of the fire escape,” Bucky all but mouthed.

Steve watched in tensely as Bucky stood swift and quiet to look out of the window with the Hydra button pasted to it. He pushed it open with one hand and gestured to Steve with the other. They were on the move.

Steve was strong and fast, but less practiced in the art of parkour than his partner. He found himself struggling to keep up with the soldier on some of the steeper jumps and faster bends as they hurtled over the Washington rooftops. Steve stared in focused admiration as Bucky threw his body quite effortlessly up climbs that Steve had to give more thought to scale.

“Sniper on your right!” Bucky shouted, grabbing Steve round the middle and slamming him into the concrete ground just before a shimmer of bullets hit the bricks on the wall next to him. And his ribs. He felt a rib or two crunch and blood heat his side, running down his skin.

“Stay down, stay…” Bucky trailed off and walked away, rage painted over his face.

The Hydra sniper that had delivered the shot cast a zip between the buildings he was spying from and the one Steve and Bucky were on now. Bucky ran towards him and with a shimmer of metal delivered a punch that he knew the sniper would feel for weeks. Steve was in a haze. His him was alight with the burn of the bullet wound and his face was sweaty. He wanted to help Bucky fight, but a quick test of motion proved that would be impossible; he couldn’t move. Bucky and the sniper were growing closer to the edge of the roof. The occasional sound of metal connecting with flesh and grunts that did not sound like Bucky’s reassured Steve a little. He heard a final sound that he recognised as much as resented; a neck snapping followed by the thump of dead weight on concrete.

Silence. Pure cold silence. Then Bucky fell to his knees beside Steve.

“I’m going to compress it, you’re bleeding,” Bucky’s composure was cracked with fatigue from the fight and panic at the state Steve was in.

Bucky pressed his metal hand against Steve’s stomach, so hard that Steve grinding his teeth together did not prevent the scream of pain that he let out.

Bucky winced at the sound. He knew how to hurt people, not how to put them back together or comfort, or reassure. This was unfamiliar territory especially when he worked alone so often. He put a cold, damp hand on Steve’s forehead.

“I’m sorry, this is my fault,” he rambled, “I should’ve know they’d find me.”

Steve growled in pain again as Bucky pressed against the bullet hole harder. His face was streaked with sweat and he was pale.

“It’s slowing down,” Bucky sighed, relieved at the stemming flow of blood, “Just a little bit more.”

Steve gritted his teeth until Bucky let go and wrapped Steve profusely in spray-on-skin and bandages. He tried to protest as waves of nausea and unsteadiness drowned him but unconsciousness stole his words.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. A Little Further

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one use of homophobic language

The sound of music, quiet and dull, masked by sleep was the first thing that Steve heard. He let a hand wander to his stomach. It ached slightly but he was sure he had healed pretty decently. He took a deep breath, wincing at the tightness but also comforted by the fact that he could breathe at all.

“Rise and shine old man,” Sam Wilson crouched next to Steve’s face. Natasha Romanov was behind him, fiddling with the stereo and generally pottering.

Steve opened his eyes and looked around. Sam’s house. He relaxed at the familiarity.

“Where’s Bucky?” Steve managed. His voice sounded awful.

“Here,” Bucky said, looking down at Steve. He startled so hard it hurt. He hadn’t realised that his head was on Bucky’s lap.

“Never do that to me again,” Steve sighed.

Bucky smiled, not quite his old smile but enough to make Steve stare and Sam raise his eyebrows.

“Hydra didn’t send out a sniper for you,” Natasha stated through a mouth of croissant she was busy stealing from Sam’s fridge, “They wanted to test who Bucky was loyal to, to see whether they could get him back,” She swallowed and pointed at Bucky, who frowned in discomfort at the attention.

Steve felt anger well in his injured stomach but the spinning in his head made him calm down.

“Bucky carried you here,” Natasha said, patting the top of Bucky’s head and earning herself a look of ice from the Winter Soldier, “Pretty cute if you ask me.”

Bucky’s cheeks flushed red and he looked out of the window. Steve sat up slowly and stretched his arms above his head.

“Now what?” Steve huffed out, leaning forward to ease the ache in his side. Bucky but a concerned hand on his back, “Are we safe?”

Natasha shrugged and vaulted over Sam’s kitchen table.

“Yep, as far as we know,” She explained, “Fury has managed to wipe out a few more know Hydra agents, we should have them in the ashes pretty soon. Without Pierce and all the other bastards, they’re dropping like flies.”

Steve nodded, rubbing his eyes.

“Hydra are like rats,” Bucky said, his voice low, “There are more, there have to be.”  


Sam looked at Natasha for what seemed like permission.

“Not looking for you, there aren’t,” Sam said, “Sergeant, they consider you an ally to SHEILD now, and you’re no use to them if you’re an ally to SHEILD.”

Bucky’s face turned to one of unease, staring straight ahead and rubbing his hands anxiously. The frown deepened and he stood up fast, and left the room.

“What did I say?” Sam asked, looking genuinely concerned. Steve went to reassure him, but to his surprise Nat stepped in first.

“They brainwashed him, Wilson,” She said softly, “They wiped his life away over and replaced it with theirs, and they made him believe that their agendas were all that was of value to him. Then he challenged the fabric of his existence by coming back to Steve and now he knows that they have no use for him anymore,” Natasha paused for breath, “It’s like your abusive parents telling you that you’re adopted and kicking you out on the same day.”  


Sam pulled a face of overwhelmed sympathy. Steve stood up carefully and limped out to the porch where Bucky was sitting.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Stevie,” the sound of Bucky’s voice shaking with full sobs, along with the mention of his old pet name, took Steve aback.

This was the most emotion he had seen on Bucky’s face for a while. He had always cried real easy, usually out of anger or frustration, never really out of sadness. Steve remembered the days when Bucky would come home, red faced and pouty. He’d wait for an hour or so then Steve would ask him if he was alright, knowing the answer completely.

_“I’m fine, Steve just fine!” Bucky would shout defensively, fists balled at his sides. Then his fuller bottom lip would crumple and the tears would fall down his cheeks like little crystalline traitors, breaking his bravado. He fall into Steve’s arms and explain the most trivial of fights, or how some of the nastier boys had pointed out how much time he spent with Steve and call him a “queer”._

_“Just riles me that they think it okay, s’all,” He would mumble into Steve’s chest, his face hot and damp and his breathing shaking in sudden hiccups like an angry toddler._

As Bucky had gotten older, it had become less frequent, crying fits replaced with moody spells spent gazing out at the Brooklyn skyline. When the sunset hit Bucky’s cheeks one day, Steve had realised that the crying fits hadn’t stopped, he had just gotten better at crying quietly.

Right now, Bucky looked more like the old Bucky than ever, but for all the wrong reasons,

“We’ll figure it out Buck,” Steve sat down next to him on the porch, “We always do.”  


Bucky shook his head and laughed angrily.

“We always _did,_ Steve,” he corrected, “Before the sound of a god-damned door closing made me jump out of my skin or the thought of falling asleep scared me to death or everyone I went anywhere near nearly burned to the ground…”

Steve cupped Bucky’s face and pressed his thumb to his mouth to shush him.

“Look at me, Buck,” Steve whispered, “Look at me properly.”

Bucky did, watery-eyed and rosy.

“You have now saved my life twice in the past two weeks,” Steve said, “Twice.”

Bucky nodded, looking down. Steve pushed his chin back up.

“You had to fight every instinct, every conditioned instruction shoved down your throat to do that. That proves to me you can go a little bit further for me.”

Bucky went to argue, but gave up.

“Can you go a little bit further for me, Buck?” Steve nudged the soldier gently, “Cause’ I’ve missed my best guy too much to see him fall apart as soon as I get him back.”

Natasha stuck her head out of the screen door.

“Fury called,” She said quietly, “He said you can stay at SHEILD until your apartment has been secured and searched.”

Steve nodded a ‘thank you’ before turning back to Bucky.

Bucky steadied himself with a long, shaky breath and smiled weakly.

“I’m with you till the end of the line, Steve.”

 

 

 


	6. A Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut alert!

“Here we are,” Steve announced pulling into the drive of the small house that SHIELD had secured for them.

Steve had been offered this house before, many times, but had insisted that he wanted to get his own place with his own money. Right now however, it seemed pretty perfect.

“It’s nice,” Bucky seemed overwhelmed, “Really…nice.”  


Steve looked at the soldier. He was hanging back, cautious and hesitant, stepping out of Natasha’s car that she’s lent him ( _“One scratch and you’re dead, Rogers”)_ slowly, like he was learning how for the first time.

“You ready, Buck?” Steve asked, walking around the car and putting an arm around Bucky’s waist.

Bucky was casually dressed, a long-sleeved grey sweater and jeans and a dark green baseball cap, his hair was pulled into a loose bun at the nape of his neck, but Steve could see him marking and scanning the rooftops, stuck in fight mode. Steve took his hand and led him into the little grey house.

The wooden floors were dark and shiny, there were two couches and an armchair and a small kitchen with tiles that reminded Steve of vanilla ice-cream, pale yellow and flecked with tiny dark fragments under the glaze. It felt like a home.

“I’ve never lived anywhere,” Bucky muttered, “You know, since the war.”

Steve smiled understandingly and rubbed the tops of Bucky’s arms, feeling the difference in texture through the thin wool of the sweater. His right side was warm and firm, dense muscle and life but the other, though it hummed gently with the background buzz of electronics giving out a gentle vibration, was difficult for Steve to attach to Bucky in his head.

Bucky leant his forehead against Steve’s and closed his eyes. They were so close that from Steve’s angle, Bucky’s eyes, rimmed with long dark lashes, merged into one.

Steve pressed his lips against Bucky’s softly, giving the soldier time to react. He still flinched sometimes, pulled away expecting pain or punishment, confused by pleasure, comfort or arousal. They were all very unfamiliar and unexpected sensations for someone who knew torture and discomfort to be a default setting. Bucky did not flinch this time, rather just gasped a little against Steve’s mouth, his flesh hand instinctively shooting up but having nowhere to go. He put it on Steve’s hip. Steve, deepening the kiss, cupped Bucky’s face in both hands, pulling of the baseball cap and feeling a few strands of freed long hair brush his cheeks as a result.

“Tell me if you want me to stop, okay?” Steve whispered into the kiss. Bucky hummed a response but kept going, pulling Steve a closer by the waist until their hips touched. Steve shrugged off his jacket and threw it onto the couch next to them and Bucky heard a pair of keys fall to the ground. Steve lifted Bucky’s sweater over his head, stroking his hands gently back down his bare shoulders, less bothered than he thought that he would be at the feeling of his fingers catching on metal anchored in bone. It was slightly raised from Bucky’s skin, and the seam that ran around it was heavily scarred, shiny and smooth compared to the rest of the flesh.

“Don’t look at it,” Bucky asked quietly, lowering Steve’s head with his hand. Steve responded by kissing a line along Bucky’s right collarbone.

“I think you’re pretty good to look at, Barnes,” Steve muttered, feeling the heat raise under the skin of Bucky’s neck. The soldier made a quiet sigh in the back of his throat at the sensitive contact, pressing on the back of Steve’s head a little to deepen the pressure. He started to unbutton the plaid shirt Steve was wearing but stopped when one of the delicate shell buttons crunched between his metal fingers.

“Don’t worry,” Steve chuckled, seeing the look of apology on Bucky’s face. He pulled the shirt over his head and continued.

He let his hand slip down Bucky’s back slowly, feeling the tight muscles tremble a little under his touch and pressed his fingers just under the waistband of Bucky’s jeans. The soldier’s hips jutted forward involuntarily, pressing into Steve’s. He was obviously hard, the line of his shaft just visible through the denim. Steve dropped his hands and rubbed along the tempting outline. Bucky’s toes curled in his sneakers and he huffed out a sigh against Steve’s neck.

“Keep going,” he encouraged, feeling Steve hesitate when his fingers found the fly of his jeans.

Steve undid them and pulled them down to about mid-thigh and Bucky did the same to him.

Bucky reached forward to touch the Captain but paused. Steve held his hand and guided it, urging him to continue.

“You won’t hurt me, Bucky,” Steve assured.

Bucky started to rub slowly, but hearing the hitch in Steve’s breathing made him speed up until the Captain’s ears were flushed red. Steve was thrusting into his flesh hand unevenly, his metal one on the small of his back to steady him. Bucky kicked his jeans the whole way off and Steve followed, pulling the soldier back as quickly as he could, pressing them back into another deep kiss. Steve pushed his hands under the waistband of Bucky’s underpants and cupped his ass, squeezing the firm muscle and pulling him closer before rolling down the thin jersey. There was new sense of urgency in their movements.

Bucky’s hard length sprung from the tight fabric and Steve started to rub gently but firm enough. He slid his hand up and down Bucky’s shaft rhythmically, listening to the soldier’s breathing turn ragged and desperate, shaky pants in tune with Steve’s movements.

“That’s…” Bucky couldn’t finish, his words turned to moans as Steve ran his thumb over the tip of his length.

Sensitivity after years of deprivation got the better of him and Bucky came in hot, white streaks over Steve’s stomach.

Bucky held the back of the couch that they were leaning against with his metal hand to steady himself and avoid hurting Steve with it, and heard the fabric crunch in protest. He pressed his face against Steve’s shoulder to muffle his moans and felt the bridge of his nose ache at the pressure against the hot, damp skin. His right hand squeezed Steve’s over-hard shaft. The pressure made the Captain follow in Bucky’s footsteps, falling headlong into orgasm so fast his vision greyed around the edges. They stood there for a moment, breathless and flushed with pleasure.

“I…I love you, Stevie,” Bucky panted, still shaky.

“You too, Buck,” Steve replied.

He did, indefinitely.


	7. The Dark of Winter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW self-loathing, panic attack, medical procedures and injury descriptions.

_Pain pulsed through Bucky’s left side. He listened to the voices blurring around him. German? Maybe. But the pain had no accent just persistence and power, spreading up his shoulder. He wanted to scream but something rubbery tasting and firm locked his jaws in their place. He tried to kick his legs but his movements were slow and numb, his muscles were reacting three seconds after he told them to move._

_“Secure the prosthesis.”_

_It was a voice Bucky had heard often, he pronounced ‘the’ as ‘ze’ and he spoke like every syllable mattered, slow and torturously spelling out what would happen to him next in agonising exactitude. It was Zola._

_The sound of a drill pierced the nauseous miasma of surgical spirit and sweat and bought Bucky’s pain to a new peak. A growl tore through his chest with a force burned his throat as the inner motors of the cybernetic arm were bolted to the bones in his shoulder blade. He wanted to beg them to stop; he was beyond pride at this point. His already indistinct vision clouded further. He felt like his brain was swelling, getting heavier inside his skull and he could taste the tang of vomit rising in his throat._

_The blinding blue light of a welding torch was the last thing he saw before his senses surrendered to catalepsy._

“Bucky, wake up for me,” Steve pleaded hopelessly to the screaming Winter Soldier, “Please Buck.”

Bucky’s eyes flashed open, wide with terror. He reached out with his metal side and fixed a harsh grip on Steve’s throat.

“It’s me B”- Steve protested to spare himself from the tightening grip of Bucky’s hand.

Bucky paused, staring into Steve’s eyes with a look of confusion, then guilt. His chest rose and fell in tight gasps. He dropped Steve and ran out of the room.

Steve rubbed his throat. No major damage, maybe some bruises but not much else. He walked out of the dark bedroom. It was probably about two, he guessed from the pitch black and silence of the surrounding street.

“Buck?”

He was sitting on the couch, knees drawn up with his forehead resting on them. His hands were laced in his hair, the metal one digging obviously into his scalp. He was still.

“You alright, buddy?” Steve sat next to him and put a hand on his head, gently and subtly trying to break the grip of that metal hand to stop him hurting himself. It would not shift and Bucky flinched from the touch.

“Go back to bed, Steve,” Bucky suggested, “I’m gonna’ sleep on the couch tonight.”

Bucky’s voice was monotonous and broken, hoarse in his throat. Steve knew this voice and the devastating words that he tied to that voice, that still made his chest tighten, rung through his head: _“Who the hell is Bucky?”_

“I don’t want you on the couch,” Steve coaxed, brushing a lock of dark hair behind the soldiers ear, “You had a nightmare, I don’t want you to sit by yourself after that.”

Bucky frowned, looking pained and frightened. He turned to Steve. There were finger-shaped red blotches on the side of Steve’s neck, and a purple thumbprint in the centre of his throat. Deep rifts of guilt and self-abhorrence hit the soldier.

Steve thought it strange, and deeply sad, that someone who valued their own safety so little was so deeply affected by slightly bruising someone else through no fault of his own. Bucky knew Steve would heal within hours, just like him. He had also hurt many people, many times, in much worse ways. Steve wondered if Bucky felt just as guilty with those people as with him, or if Hydra’s conditioning had erased that sense of remorse and replaced it with deadly efficiency. In a way, he hoped so. He didn’t want Bucky to feel responsible of _any_ of that.

“It doesn’t hurt, Buck,” Steve reassured, “Even if it did, I wouldn’t want you feeling any way about it. It was a flashback.”

Bucky sighed.

“Please, Steve,” he muttered, “Go back to bed.”

~

The morning was not much better. Bucky seemed vacant, besides when something sudden or loud would break the awkward tension that overwhelmed the small house; then, he would flinch and leave the room.

Steve was torn between fighting with all his strength not to lose Bucky to Hydra’s lingering influence, and giving him the space he seemed to need or want at least. He tried to find a healthy balance, not asking or expecting any contact, but leaving it very open, like bait. He was not met with rejection or animosity, but over-consideration and caution. Any offers were met with reassurances from Bucky that he was okay, he didn’t want Steve to worry or that he was “honestly swell”. The time the men had spent together before the war had taught Steve a lot, one thing being that Bucky was an awful liar.

“Hey Buck?” Steve finally called from his seat at the sofa. It was about seven at night by that point.

Bucky walked in from bedroom. Steve guessed from the raw look of his pale cheeks that he had been crying. He did not pry.

“Come and sit with me,” Steve patted the seat next to him, “I want to show you something.”

Bucky did, with slow unsure movements.

Steve pulled up his shirt and was met with a look of adorable anticipation and confusion. There were four obvious scars on his torso, and a couple more little ones. Steve pointed at a large streak on his hip.

“That was Tony, he burned me with a laser,” Steve explained before pointing to the next scar.

“This was…also Tony, not a good example,” Steve moved on. Bucky smiled.

“This one was Nat, stabbed me in combat practice. This was Bruce, Dr Banner, he had a code green and threw me into a wall.”

Steve rolled his shirt down and took both of Bucky’s hands in his. He looked the soldier in the eyes.

“I am still friends with all of the people who gave me these scars. I love them all to pieces,” He near whispered, “Even Tony.”

“If I don’t put any of them to fault for this, I’m sure as hell not going to feel any way about you giving me a couple of bruises in your sleep.”

Bucky looked down for a moment, then nodded. Steve watched the tension visibly leave his shoulders.

“Now,” Steve sighed, clapping his hands together, “If you’re done pouting, will you _please_ come to bed?”

 

 

 

 


	8. Hot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut warning.  
> sorry for the delay in work, I was on holiday :)

The bedroom was dark, the light coming through the window was a gentle orange glow from the waning sunset. The fan on the desk gave off a low hum, oscillating steadily, left to right and blowing cool air in moats around the hot room. The curtains blew lazily in whatever breeze the heady July day could manage. 

Bucky was too hot, but he closed his eyes contentedly regardless as Steve pressed slow rhythmic kisses into his neck, absorbed and distracted by arousal. The heat mingled of the room mingled with the tightening warmth of his stomach and became indistinguishable and unimportant.   
“God, I’ve wanted you so bad,” Steve moaned huskily into Bucky’s collarbone, pulling the soldier’s hips up to his forcefully, making Bucky arch his back and gasp, tempted by the rough treatment.

As much as he valued Steve’s caution, he craved that lack of control from the Captain. He wanted to see, hear and feel that Steve was not scared anymore. That was why he loved nights like this, when Steve would let himself get so undone by seventy years of solitude that he would forget to be gentle, grip his fingers in Bucky’s hair and talk in a way Steve never usually talked. His cheeks would flush and he would lose courtesy and caution, just needing to touch.

“I’m gonna make you feel good, Buck,” Steve whispered, low and breathy as he kissed Bucky’s bare chest, “So, so good.”

It did feel pretty good. Being naked in front of Steve was something Bucky had avoided for a while, unhappy with the way he was peppered with bruises and scars, embarrassed of his metal arm in a way he could only describe as guilt for what he had done with it. But right now, being naked was not a problem. He wouldn’t have wanted to put anything between his and Steve’s skin, anything at all that would dull the barrage of sensations that were prickling over his body.

Steve slid his hands under Bucky’s hips and kissed firmly up his shaft. Bucky put his hands on Steve’s shoulders, keeping him where he was. He battled with the metal one, trying to stop himself from squeezing too hard. Steve took him into his mouth, bobbing his head up and down far too slowly, making deliciously wet little noises as his lips slid over Bucky’s skin. Bucky moved his hands into Steve’s hair and let his own head lull back, gritting his teeth against the moans threatening to take over. Steve’s movements stopped and he pulled Bucky by his thighs, sliding him closer before leaning back down to kiss him.

“Such a good boy,” Steve mumbled messily into Bucky’s lips, hot, wet and unravelled.

Steve let his hand drop from Bucky’s hips to his thighs. He leaned over to the nightstand and pulled out a tube of lube before covering his fingers with the translucent jelly. He rubbed them together to warm them before pressing two to Bucky’s tight entrance.

“Tell me I’m allowed,” Steve whispered breathlessly and hoarse, “Give me your permission.”

Steve insisted on this ritual, every time. Bucky nodded eagerly and audibly moaned at the sensation of Steve’s fingers pressing past the rings of muscle until they hit that bundle of nerves that made the soldier’s toes seize up. Steve built a rhythm, hooking towards him, getting faster and rougher as Bucky’s voice climbed. His flesh hand tangled in the sheets of their bed and the metal one was firmly on Steve’s arm, a physical ‘don’t you dare slow down’. 

Steve slid out his fingers and shushed Bucky’s protests at the emptiness. He squirted more lube into the palm of his hand and slicked it over his length before lining up their hips.  
He pressed his tip against Bucky’s touch-reddened hole teasingly before edging in. he started to thrust, resting forward with his forearms either side of Bucky’s head and his nose pressed against his cheek. He could feel his heat and smell his familiar, comforting smell, sweat and cologne that smelt better on him than on anyone else. Bucky had wrapped his legs loosely around Steve’s hips and Steve was gripping them in place.

Bucky could feel sweat running down his temple and his stomach muscles burning with the force of pacing climax, he was desperate to let this last. 

“Come for me,” Steve coaxed, sensing his closeness, “I want to hear you moan.”

Bucky let himself fall apart, pulling Steve closer, bruising the Captain’s hips with his metallic fingers and sobbing out a gasp of pleasure. The sound pushed Steve to the edge, shivers coursing through his hips as he plummeted into orgasm.

“You’re so amazing,” Steve’s voice was cloudy and tired, "So, so amazing."

“Nearly as amazing as you,” Bucky replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you'd like to see next


	9. End of The Line

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last instalment people!!!

_March 20 th 2018_

_The church fell to a hush as music started to play. Natasha Romanov slid her arm into Steve’s and gave it a squeeze though his suit jacket._

_“You’ll be fine, Steve,” She whispered, “I promise.”_

_Steve could hear his heart thudding away in his throat. He had face aliens and cyborgs with less anxiety than this. They started to walk, timing their steps so they were synchronised. Steve tried to time his breathing with the steps too, stemming the trembling in his hands. He looked around the hall. Thor, Clint, Tony, Sam, the whole gang were sitting in the pews, looking jarringly out of place in tuxedos._

_And Bucky. Standing at the end of the aisle with Fury, ready and waiting. He looked like the old Bucky, his cut back to its old length and in a grey suit with a cream rose pinned into the lapel of the jacket. He looked as nervous as Steve, his metal left hand concealed under the right one carefully. It was an image that Steve had imagined so many thousands of times before, but he had resigned himself to it being just that; a pipe dream, a torturously distant wish._

_But now he was there. Walking down the aisle towards the man he had always seen himself spending the rest of his life with, no matter how long that may be._

_He got to the end of the aisle and stood opposite Bucky._

_“Hey,” Bucky whispered_

_“Hey,” Steve back, “Happy Birthday, by the way.”_

_“You look beautiful,” Bucky chuckled, nudged Steve’s shoulder gently before Fury called the congregation to quiet._

_It looked like most of SHIELD had turned up, probably thanks to Stark._

_“We are gathered here today to witness the union in marriage of our friends and colleagues, Captain Steven Joseph Rogers and Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes,” Fury announced to the crowd, exciting a short round of applause from Dr Banner and a ‘whoop’ from Sam._

_“Gentlemen, if we could start your vows?” Fury stepped back and Steve nodded in thanks, taking a deep breath._

_“Do you, Captain Steven Joseph Rogers, take Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes as your lawfully wedded husband, for as long as you both live?”_

_“I do,” Steve smiled, taking both of Bucky’s hands in his and squeezing gently._

_Steve’s chest swelled with anxiety and excitement, adrenaline heated his cheeks._

_“And do you,” Fury put an earnest hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, take Captain Steven Joseph Rogers, to be your lawfully wedded husband, for as long as you both live?”_

_“I do,” Bucky vowed, nodding and rocking onto the balls of his feet slightly. Fury clapped his hands together._

_He looked into Steve’s eyes deeply, unable to stifle the grin aching his cheeks. He never had to lose him again._

_“Then it is my genuine pleasure and honour, to pronounce you the most badass married couple ever to come out of the United States of America. Give each other some sugar!” Fury ordered._

_There was a deafening round of applause from the crowd as Steve pulled Bucky into his arms and kissed him deeply._

_“Can we have the rings please?” Fury called to Clint, who ushered forward his two kids, proudly clutching a wedding ring each._

_Bucky took the first one, ruffling the little girl’s hair and slid it onto Steve’s left ring finger. Steve took the second, holding Bucky’s metal hand in his and pushing the ring past segments of titanium that made up the joints of his finger. The ring stopped just below the last knuckle and engaged with a satisfying click, making the whole arm purr with a gentle hum._

_The ring integrated perfectly with the titanium, lying flush, almost undetectable. Steve held his hand next to Bucky’s and compared them, looking at the inscriptions on each._

_On steve’s: Till’ the end of time._

_On Bucky’s: Till’ the end of the line._


End file.
